Someone Told Me It Was Wrong
by krazyhippo66
Summary: Sweet series of poems describing my perfect canon Rizzles; Jane's POV. I know. Vague summary, but it's hard to write a summary for something less than a thousand words without giving it all away! R&R if you wanna. I welcome all of it. Don't be scared. It's just poetry. If you don't like it, it'll only have wasted two minutes of your life.


**A/N: Well...I had to write a political poem for my writing class. I wrote sickeningly sweet Rizzles ones instead. But I guess that makes them political. Thought I might as well share them with you guys. I know, it's not everybody's cup of tea (it's not really mine) but a piece of writing is a piece of writing...right? And see? I'm being a courteous student like I said I was, doing work and all. Mostly. Hope you like them. **

* * *

**I. Pining**

Her eyes make me want to cry.  
They are perfect.  
They are gold and green and caramel and they remind me  
Of the time I went to Venice.

It was an old fishing village, and a woman with broken English  
Told me about old domestic life.  
How men would go out on week long fishing trips and return home  
Wasted out of their minds.  
She said the women got sick of strange men stumbling into their house  
so each woman took it on herself to paint her house a bright, unmistakable color.  
That way, the next time her husband came wandering home  
he _couldn't_ confuse his house with another  
even if he wasn't in his right mind.

Her eyes are my obnoxiously colored house.  
The only thing I can distinguish in my bleary, drunk thoughts.  
The only thing I am entirely sure about.  
The only thing I trust.  
If only she had half of a clue.

Her eyes are more than windows.  
They are the doors and the walls and the inside furniture.  
I can see everything in them. Her hopes, her fears, her dreams  
And she never shies away from them.  
They are always shining with the most adorable trust  
Kindness  
Innocence  
Understanding.

And they make me want to cry, because they are a hope I never wanted to have.  
A hope that people are good.  
Because now it means, I have to put forth the effort  
To find the ones worth living with.  
To be honest, I was kind of just hoping there were no good people,  
Because then at least there would be an excuse for all the bad going on:

We're sorry all this happened, but we didn't have someone good  
To tell us we were wrong.

* * *

**II. Living**

From everything I heard when I was little,  
Love always sounded selfish.  
'You make _me_ feel good, so I want to keep you around.'  
I'm so glad everyone else got it wrong.

All I want is to make her happy,  
Satisfy her every beg and plea.  
When she smiles, her dimples unveiled,  
An extra kind of spark in her eye,  
You might as well stick a dog collar on me  
And call me bitch.  
Because I would go to the ends of the earth  
Just to make that smile last.

When she said she wanted kids,  
She flashed me that knee-weakening grin  
And I had said yes in an instant.  
Boy did she give me the shock of my life.

But I wouldn't take it back.  
I wouldn't go back and tell myself to grow a backbone,  
Because then I wouldn't have this.

I wouldn't have her,  
Gray wisps mingling with her honey locks,  
A voice at my ear chastising my diet,  
A soft body to fight off the loneliness of night  
Or her soul.

Her soul that crept its way inside me  
And made a home right next to mine.  
Her soul that is so embedded in my very being  
I understand now the clichéd 'being whole' metaphor.  
It's not even a metaphor, but reality.

I wouldn't have the family she and I built,  
The children that worship the ground she walks on  
And respect me enough out of fear.  
And it's funny, because I can hear her, in my head  
Telling me they love me equally.

And when she pulls me aside,  
Kisses me reverently,  
My name always at her lips:  
It just makes it more special  
Because there are other women in her life now  
Little spoiled, stubborn, beautiful women  
That are taking after her more quickly than I like.

To think. I almost passed this up  
because I feared what other people would think.

* * *

**III. Looking Back**

After decades of worry, I've noticed that the fear has numbed.  
Just like after years of pining, I had finally ignored everyone  
Who told me I shouldn't love you.

And now, with the lines in our faces set in deeply,  
Our veins shallow, snaking up our arms and legs,  
I find the fear to hold your hand is gone.

Because over the years, I have learned that some things are worth sacrificing.  
A few stares from strangers is a price I will always pay  
To see that bright beaming smile,  
The one that caused those deep-set crow's feet.

This time around is different, though.  
Just when I thought I had seen it all.  
This time, when I take your hand and squeeze it gently,  
A girl comes up to us.

She can't be more than twenty, and her eyes are shining  
Almost like a clichéd anime girl (no, exactly)  
And she bursts out into one long, unending sentence.  
She's praising us and crying and I don't know what to do,

But through all the jumbled mess that is her words,  
Each tumbling over the other to get to my ears,  
I hear the clearest, most poignant sentence of my life.

_I love you for loving._

Then it's back to a tangled mess of emotional nonsense  
That is trying to pass as complete thoughts.  
Somewhere in there, I hear a few questions about us,  
How we lasted so long.

And of course, you, the love of my life, swoop in,  
Answer with such a practiced ease,  
That it's as if everybody asks us.

You have already dropped my hand,  
Cupping the poor girl's cheeks to wipe her tears away  
And I fall in love with you for the 17,203rd time.  
1047 more times, and we'll have been together for half a century.


End file.
